Watching Enchanted makes me want to try my hand at an Evil Queen story. I wonder if it will turn out like my "Cinderella" story? LoL The Glass Slipper A short story by Ki Brosius 1/15/12 “Damn my father straight to hell,” the Dauphin muttered as he trudged up to yet another peasant home, the heel of the glass slipper digging into his palm. In his rage, he didn’t notice the cut that was staining the glass redder than the rose bud lips of the flaxen haired woman he was seeking. “I hope this thing fits the most awful, horrendous, horse of a woman so that he can see the idiocy of his wretched decree.” He gritted out through clenched teeth. His deep blue eyes had a twitch and his handsome face was set in a thunderous mask. Anger was lapping at his brain making his thoughts particularly vile. Blood magick is an old magick, and Prince Hugh never noticed the subtle heat as the glass slipper shimmered and changed from the pure crystalline white it had once been to a palest pink noticeable only in the sunlight. Drops of his royal blood plopped onto the cobblestones behind his flared cloak bearing the royal crest as he swiftly barreled towards the front door. He cursed under his breath. This was easily the hundredth chateau. His man servants and body guards scrambled to keep up with him. “My lord,” his faithful bodyguard Jean gasped for breath as he caught up to the Prince. Hugh barely spared the smaller man a glance as his fist pounded the large front door of the picturesque family home before him. His rings caught the sun and dazzled Jean for a moment as he blinked his eyes. He was thrown off at his momentary blindness. “My lord, perhaps we should break for a meal. You MUST calm yourself before you scare every woman in the county,” he attempted to engage the man with a smile and an elbow to the ribs, but he only glowered at his longtime friend. Jean stood tall and stepped back behind his Prince by a respectable distance as a serving girl opened the door a crack. “Who is there?” A mousy voice squeaked at him in terror. Already irritated he paid her no real mind. She was filthy, her light brown hair and drab grey dress covered in dirt and soot from a hard day’s labor that had begun at dawn. “Fetch me the women of the house. Now,” he bellowed. His normally charming voice was laced with steel. The door slammed shut in the Prince’s royal face. He seethed. He would rather be anywhere else in the world right now. Preferably snuggled up to the gorgeous creature who had stolen his heart at the ball the previous evening. He waxed poetic amusing himself by comparing her to every good thing he’d ever heard a bard speak of or seen in a play or read in a book. He finally decided that her eyes sparkled like rich brown diamonds and her breath smelled of honeyed apples when the door opened abruptly and the reality of his situation set about to enraging him once again. The dowdy young woman clutched her broom as if frightened and kept trying to catch his eye as he swept past her into the sitting room where the lady of the chateau and her daughters were waiting for his entrance. He grimaced. He’d had quite enough of clutching females looking for a way into his pants, and more ostensibly into a crown, today. He dismissed the serving girl from his thoughts entirely as he viewed the Comtesse and her two daughters, Anastasia and…he couldn’t remember the other’s name. She was quite forgettable. Neither was exceptional in wit, beauty, or grace. He quickly motioned one of his manservants to announce the reason for his arrival as the tow headed Jean looked bored nearing tears standing semi-alert at his side. The sun streaming through the sparkling windows illuminated Jean’s unusual hair and silver weaponry-two swords and a dagger- in an eye catching way¸ causing the Comtesse’s daughters to split their longing looks and smiles between the two men. “My lord, my daughters would be most delighted to try on this shoe.” The Comtesse regally inclined her head in their direction and they shared simpering smiles with each other before casting them in his direction. The Prince had seen some foul smiles before and had years of court politics under his belt so he didn’t flinch when the wine and tea yellowed visage of Anastasia came closer to him. She plopped her ungainly, oversized girth onto a small footstool and stuck out a foot much, much too big to belong to his beloved. Her long dark hair was streaking with grey in places, though she tried to hide it with her “artful” hairstyle. It ended up looking like a bird had attempted nesting. Her dress, a fine green satin, rode up to display a vein mottled leg without stockings as she leaned forward coyly batting her eyes and doing her best to display her less than ample bosom. She wiggled her toes, much in need of scrubbing and cutting in his general direction and it was a near miss for allowing a grimace to sneak onto his face. “A man who runs away lives to fight another day,” he snidely whispered as he handed off the glass slipper to Jean, a man known for his bravery and loyalty. He sucked in his breath and sent a hooded glare at his lord as without a misstep he smiled at the mildly disappointed Anastasia and knelt down to touch the slipper to her obviously too large foot. She chatted at Jean, who would still be a catch, and attempted to bat her eye lashes. Jean couldn’t explain it very well later when the Prince had him pinned against the wall of the chateau with a knife to his throat, but the slipper rippled and changed before his eyes. One moment it was clearly too small, fit for a dainty angel, and the next it had swollen to engulf the foot of the horrid woman sitting happily before him. He gasped and his dark brown eyes nearly popped out of his head. She was excited to be the center of attention laughing and clapping as she tossed her leg high into the air so everyone could see her foot inside the glass slipper, as well as a fair amount of her undergarments. Hugh blanched and he felt nauseous as she squealed and her equally ugly sister raced across the room to crush her in a hug. The Comtesse smiled at her children’s antics and maliciously took note of the Prince’s discomfort. “The royal decree said we’re getting married!” Anastasia cackled in triumph as she danced around with her sister. There was a thump that went unnoticed as the serving girl who had been skulking in the corner with her broom fainted dead away. The Prince sympathized and quickly turned to leave the house followed by a horror stricken Jean. Jean had stepped only one booted foot onto the cobblestone footpath when he found himself being manhandled by his Prince. Strong hands gripped his arms swinging him around. The world blurred as his head hit the wall behind him. The Prince held a jeweled dagger to his throat and promised murder with his icy blue eyes. “How.” Deadly, that one word hung in the air between them. Jean shook his head, confused, for once frightened of his friend. He was always on high alert for threats to Hugh, he had never considered threats from him. Jean continued shaking his head and felt the dagger dig into the sensitive flesh of his neck. The pain was surprising and sharp and caused him to wince. The Prince eased off. He was shaking and his face had taken on a grey pallor. Using his thumb the prince wiped at the spot of blood causing more pain and a grunt from his bodyguard. He sheathed the dagger immediately, but did not move away. He leaned his forehead on his Jean’s shoulder. The man brought his arms up and loosely hugged his best friend. He leaned his cheek against dark hair and sighed softly. The Prince looked up from the spot where his head was resting, still looking ill. “I can’t marry that hag.” “I know.” Jean comforted gently. Hugh frowned. He moved back, hand extended to his friend. “I’m sorry.” Jean smiled crookedly and shook his hand. “I accept your apology.” “What am I going to do?” He despaired. Jean grinned. “Keep a mistress like every other monarch?” Hugh punched him lightly on the shoulder and frowned as his servants were scattering to carry the news both to his father and the royal scribes who would begin work on the wedding invitations. They had a name for the bride, which was the only missing part of each parchment. The wedding would take place within a fortnight if the King had his way. “If only I could keep my stomach in check long enough to consummate the marriage,” he gloomily replied. “And create heirs,” Jean helpfully reminded him. If it was possible the Prince looked even worse. His earlier musings about his charming wife to be were dashed in one fell swoop by the still celebrating women inside the small chateau. His fantasies of a happily ever after with his blonde beauty were crumbling and blowing away in the whirlwind of activity boiling around him now that his betrothed had officially been determined by a shoe fitting. The Prince mounted his horse and decided then and there to throw himself on his Father’s mercy. He would beg, scream, and cry in ways that would have garnered him beatings as a child. He would marry a different woman of his choosing if his father insisted. He would give up his carefree life for one of marital responsibilities, but only for someone who wasn’t the harpy inside celebrating. He felt as if he were riding to a wake as he turned his horse toward the castle and kicked her into a run hoping to beat the messengers to his Father’s side. Jean, cursing, ran to his horse to keep up, and prayed that the Prince wouldn’t find any trouble along the way. *** Tears streamed down the Prince’s face as he sat staring blankly at the wall in the library. The cheerful fire crackling and warming the room did nothing for his mood. There was a mostly empty bottle of wine perched precariously on the arm of his uncomfortable wooden chair. His crystal glass, reminiscent of the fantastical slipper he was trying to force himself to forget, travelled over and over again to his salted lips. In a fit of drunken pique he kicked an empty bottle that had been liberated of its contents earlier and it rolled across the floor shattering on a bookcase. He grunted and wished he could do it again. “Hugh?” The Prince’s stony silence continued. A blond halo of hair was illuminated by the fire and it appeared as if by some strange magic in his vision. Momentarily confused he reached out a hand, but when his eyes adjusted he allowed it to fall to his side. “Are you well?” Jean queried, squatting down before his friend laying his hand on his knees to peer more closely at face. The prince shrugged and fumbled his wine glass. It was empty and Jean easily caught it sitting it aside. “What did your father say?” “What do you think?” Jean nodded. “You’re going to capitulate?” Jean stood and paced over to the broken mess on the floor staring down at the glittering green shards. “No choice in the matter. What if I can’t bring myself to…did you see that pock marked skin? I could smell her unpleasant odor from where I stood.” Jean barked out a laugh. “It nearly sent me gagging. You had it easy where you stood. No matter, let’s go.” “Go where?” A confused Hugh stared blearily at his friend. “Away. Away from here. You come home married and the king won’t do anything about it. Especially if you come home bearing a new wife and child. What is he going to do? Demand that you take back the next heir to the throne? We come back in a few years and he will be so excited to see your smiling face that all will be forgiven.” Jean looked quite proud of his plan, as poorly thought out as it was. He tossed a large leather satchel into the Prince’s lap. Hugh sat there dumbfounded. “Gold.” “Gold?” “Traveling money.” “Where did it come from?” “Don’t worry about it.” “Where?” The Prince asked finally warming up to the idea. “I hear England is enjoyable enough in the winter. Not nearly as cold as France.” Hugh nodded his assent. “Anything. Anywhere, but in that marriage bed,” he shivered again as his imagination assailed him. Jean, loyal friend that he was, had packed large saddle bags and prepared everything the two men would need to sneak off in the night. Hugh was sad that he couldn’t take his white mare, instead riding off on a nondescript brown gelding. His cloak with the royal crest had been left in a rumpled heap on the chair in the library. The only indication of his linage was the ring he refused to part with now on a leather thong around his neck instead of on his hand. He looked like a wealthy man, but not necessarily a royal any longer, which suited their subterfuge. *** The Prince was missing and the king’s soldiers were tearing apart the country side looking for him. It hadn’t immediately been apparent that he was gone. His Father had expected a sulk and had expected him not to show his face for a few days after their fight. On the third day after he had demanded his son marry he took it upon himself to have the woman in question brought before him. As his son had described she was indeed repulsive and the king was not a monster. He was going to relent, in spite of his decree, when he found his only son missing from his chambers. Upon further inspection he wasn’t on the grounds. And now, his soldiers were stoically informing him that he may not be in the entire country. Angry at his son and himself, he called off the search. He had been receiving so many angry looks from his queen that he was beginning to fear for his life, so he hoped that Hugh hurried home. Jean and Hugh were having a grand time. They had reached the boat that was to carry them to the British Isles without incident stopping along the way to eat and drink and take in the local scenery. It hadn’t been difficult to avoid the King’s soldiers since most of them didn’t actually know what Prince Hugh looked like anyway. Jean had spent more time with the soldiers and therefore was occasionally recognized, but no one was bright enough to ask what he was doing wandering so far away from the castle. He and Hugh stood closely together leaning on the railing of the small sailing ship that was carrying them further and further from the Dauphin’s betrothed. They were at sea and the stars were a perfect shining blanket above their heads. The captain wandered over at one point to make sure his passengers were being treated well. They discussed astronomy briefly. He explained how they were guiding the ship, though neither the Prince nor Jean knew the particulars of navigation. The man bid them well and moved on to some of the other passengers. Hugh turned and leaned his back against the railing smiling at his friend. “Once we get to England we could possibly stay with some of my cousins. I haven’t seen them in a while.” “Do you think that is wise?” Jean asked mirroring the Prince’s stance. Boats were boring. With the exception of the always entertaining Prince, the only thing to do is take in the monotonous scenery, and the active man was getting antsy. “I don’t have a better idea. I suppose we could rent some rooms, but if I am going to look for a wife,” -----look for someone to make me happy- he inserted mentally, “we will need some access to respectable society.” “I agree, but there is no hurry. We could take a few weeks to come up with a decent plan. There is plenty of time. If they send word to your father of your whereabouts the ruse will come to a swift close when they cart us both back. I don’t need to remind you, I’m sure, that I may be on the receiving end of a hanging rope if we are caught and forcibly returned.” “Oh, right,” the Prince frowned and took an unconscious protective step closer to his friend. “Oh, right,” mocked Jean, not unkindly, smiling up at the Prince and then looking to the sky as if seeking help. “Thank you,” the Prince said with great seriousness. “You are the Dauphin. I am sworn to your protection. Your health doesn’t only cover not allowing someone to poke holes in you with a weapon. It also includes your happiness,” Jean replied. “Still. You are a good friend.” The Prince cast an assessing look at his travelling companion. All of this time spent alone with Jean was giving him a new view of the man. It wasn’t unpleasant and a small happiness was growing inside of him replacing the maudlin feelings that had taken root there. The two men broke off into more leisure conversation and decided to round up some of the passengers and crew for a game of cards. The night wound down with congenial company for the two friends as they began to grow more excited to start a new adventure in England. The Prince lay awake that night watching Jean sleep, dagger in hand, ever ready to protect him, and realized he was the happiest he had been in years. The moonlight streaming through the windows cast the man in an ethereal glow, lending his masculine beauty a mystical quality it didn’t usually possess. Turning it over briefly in his mind he made the decision. He moved slowly and softly on bare feet toward Jean’s bedding on the rough wooden floor. Crouching down he looked at the man closely, blond locks glistening star white in the moonlight, and it clicked. He knew to whom the shoe belonged. Gently he trailed a finger trailed down his friend’s soft cheek and he cracked an eye, giving the Prince a sleepy smile. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss to Jean’s lips. Confused the man sat up half way resting his weight on his elbows. “How?” Hugh asked Jean truly confused, but not upset. Softly, Jean allowed the story to tumble forth from his lips,“I was upset that the King was making you marry. I was crying and cursing the gods and I made a wish and then there was this scary woman who said she was my fairy godmother…,” he trailed off shrugging. “You were there. You saw what her magick was capable of.” “You love me?” Jean nodded. Hugh smiled and leaned in for another soft kiss, running his fingers through silky soft blond hair. “I love you.” …and they lived happily ever after.
Posted on: Thu, 20 Jun 2013 20:14:23 +0000
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